It was a locker, pure and simple, situated in the secondary cargo bay on board the Golden Dragon. About two feet by three, there wasn’t enough room to lie down, and barely enough to sit comfortably, particularly as the struts where shelves could be hung were digging into her back. The only light came through a grille in the door, about head height, but so far Freya hadn’t managed to get the strength together to stand up and look through.

The blow that had knocked her out had made her woozy, and try as she might she couldn’t send her senses beyond the door. The headache didn’t help, either.

Lifting her hand, her fingers touched a lump that felt the size of the Heisenberg volcano on Isis, although it was probably no bigger than the Caradoc foothills. At least it wasn’t spewing lava, although the sick sensation it gave her was all too familiar.

“Flynn, I am going to kill you,” she murmured.

“I’d really rather you didn’t.”

She looked up sharply, then had to wait for the ‘verse to stop spinning. “Flynn?”

“Yes.” His face appeared at the grille, peering down at her. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” She managed to lever herself to her feet, holding onto both sides of the locker to keep her balance. “You’re sorry?”

“Yes?” He looked ... odd. “It was a job, Frey. I didn’t know you’d ... I didn’t know.”

“You work for the Laus!”

He knew that if she could have got to him, if she wasn’t locked up in the cage, she’d have hurt him by now. “They were hiring, Freya, and paying good money. And I ain’t above a little larceny. Neither are you.”

“Maybe not, but we’ve never kidnapped anyone,” she hissed.

“It’s just a job.”

“Well, not any more.”

Something passed by the thick plexiglass window, cutting out the light display from The Halo for a moment.

---

“I'm picking something up,” Hank said, his fingers flying across the console.

“What? Is it the Empress?” Mal leaned forward, trying to see over his shoulder.

“No. Or rather, yes, but not just her. The Empress has company.” He was